Kosher Eucharist / יוקאריסט כשר

The psychologists, an ever-growing group of overpaid people who hover just above sarcastic, buzzing (buzzed?) gadflies on the “usefulness” scale, have struck again. They’ve done what they do best: shone a handsomely-funded spotlight on a social issue already as well-illuminated as the planet Mercury. Let’s discover together:

Today’s college students are more narcissistic and self-centered than their predecessors, according to a comprehensive new study by five psychologists who worry that the trend could be harmful to personal relationships and American society.

“We need to stop endlessly repeating ‘You’re special’ and having children repeat that back,” said the study’s lead author, Professor Jean Twenge of San Diego State University. “Kids are self-centered enough already.”

Twenge and her colleagues, in findings to be presented at a workshop Tuesday in San Diego on the generation gap, examined the responses of 16,475 college students nationwide who completed an evaluation called the Narcissistic Personality Inventory between 1982 and 2006.

Professor Jean Twenge, come over here right now and let me pleasure you. I don’t care that you’re a psychologist and doubtless dry like sandpaper down there. I’ll make you twenge like a 15-year-old girl whose boyfriend has just discovered the clitoris. I owe it to you, for you have shown me my calling.

You’re right, Professor Jean Twenge, we need to stop endlessly repeating “You’re special.” In fact, the scourge of unqualified specialness already gone so far that we must desperately attempt to shore up the bulkheads against a flood of boundless self-love by employing large-scale, persistent degradation. Especially when they’re young. And I am just the man for the job. Put me in America’s kindergartens - I’ll nip this in the bud!

“Mommy says I’m special!”
“Well, Billy, the next time Mommy tells you that, watch her and see if she goes into the den and drinks from the bottle of ‘mommy’s special juice.’ And then ask her if she loves ‘post-partum depression.’ It’s a grown-up way of saying ‘candy’!”

“I heard that everybody is beautiful on the inside!”
“That’s just what people tell themselves to stave off suicide, honey.”

“My daddy said I can be anything I want to be!”
“Well, sometimes daddies fudge a little…and judging from your last spelling test and penmanship handbook, I’d say daddy fudged a lot. Tell me, sweetie, what color is the collar on this Raggedy Andy doll?”
“Ooh! Ooh! I know! Blue!”
“Correct! Get to used it, because you’ll be seeing it on all the men in your future…”

But in all seriousness, Professor Jean Twenge, you’re giving narcissism a bad rap. The problem is not narcissism itself, it’s simply that most narcissists themselves are completely unworthy of the abundant love they bestow upon themselves. Most narcissists are just having pity sex with their personalities, personalities which are fundamentally undeserving of attention.

But there’s a way to solve this problem, Professor Jean Twenge. Take it from a narcissist like me. The best way to keep narcissism from destroying the society we all so dearly love is to temper it with an equal dose of self-loathing. To illustrate with an example that is absolutely in no way at all derived from my own personal life: the ideal is for the narcissist to look at the face in the mirror and be paralyzed by his conflicting urges to smash it and furiously make out with it. We cannot wipe out narcissism - because let’s face it, Jean, in certain cases narcissism is entirely justified - but we can cripple it. America - nay, the world - is counting on us.

You may remember my mild confusion as to why the Hebrew University continues to send me little messages and reminder e-mails more than a year after I stopped attending their august institution. Here was the last one:

Dear Michael,

I hope that your spring semester is getting off to a great start! Although it may be hard to believe, it’s already been about a year since you left Israel.

Apparently they’ve noticed that this tactic wasn’t eliciting the desired response, whatever exactly that may be, so they decided to ramp up their efforts in two crucial areas: treacly cutesiness and sheer incorrectness. Observe:

Dear Michael,

Believe it or not, it has now been nearly two months since you were soaking up the Jerusalem sun! While you curl up with a cup of cocoa (if you’re in New York, at least) we want to remind you to please tell us about your experience abroad by filling out our very short survey:

Oh, such exquisite torture! My hat goes off you, black-hearted Hebrew U. e-mail monkeys, unflinching tormentors of the human spirit! Soaking up the Jerusalem sun - the very deliciousness of the irony! One might almost think that not only was I not still in Jerusalem, but that this golden city on seven hills hasn’t bestowed upon me frigid temperatures, ceaseless days of rain, an ever-growing mold infestation, a persistent sniffle and a worsening cough!

Also, for you monkeys’ information, I have never curled up with a cup of hot cocoa. Our relationship is very mature and business-like, and we both know what we came to do: I came to slurp down that hot cocoa, and the hot cocoa came to leave me feeling thirsty, bloated and vaguely dissatisfied - much like most of my liaisons. We certainly don’t curl up afterwards. We try to keep it free of emotional entaglements.

Honestly I’m a little worried that this latest missive is a happy-face Band-Aid on a long-festering, gangrenous wound. Now that they’ve tried and failed with the sugar-coated approach, I fear their next e-mail may not be so friendly…

Dear Michael,

We know that it probably just seems like a few short days to you, because you’re having SO MUCH FUN WITHOUT US, but it’s been four months since you decided to leave us all alone here in the Middle East. All. Alone. No, we don’t mind. We’ve come to accept it. Our therapist says we have a tendency to form irrational attachments. Anyway, it may interest you to know, you BASTARD, that we’ve wired Ta’ami, your favorite hummus restaurant, with 100 kilos of C4. If you won’t love us, Michael, we’ll make sure you won’t love anything. We have our fingers on the button. Fill out of the survey, Michael. GOD HELP YOU, MICHAEL, FILL OUT THE SURVEY RIGHT - FUCKING -NOW!!! WE ARE NOT FUCKING AROUND WITH YOU, MICHAEL!

Thank you again for your participation!

You know they spam me with text messages too? Yeesh.

For some reason, every travel guide to Israel, every (rightfully) gushing online review of its culinary life by a returning tourist, must include in its required segment on falafel and shawarma the caveat “Israelis know how to eat falafel and shawarma without spilling a drop, but you’ll be dripping techina all over your shirt and wind up with half your sandwich on the street.” Or something like that.

This is untrue. The simple, fundamental truth is that if you can’t eat a techina-laden falafel without spilling it all over yourself and everyone around you, it’s not because you’re not a native-born Israeli, it’s because you lack the necessary social skills to function in public, you fucking baby. You’re probably one of those bastards who slurps from spoons, or gets that throat-clicking noise action going when you chew, and I hate you for it. When I had my first falafel in Israel, I didn’t spill it all over myself. Even the Goy managed to eat his first Israeli falafel with dignity, panache and a hummus-free T-shirt, and if you know us, you know that our activities rarely wind up with dignity and T-shirts intact. If you finish a falafel with hummus flecking your cheeks and techina on your shirt, this is the Lord’s way of telling you that you’re a bad person. Just give up now.

And don’t ever let me catch you at my fucking falafel stand ordering in English. I don’t even know how that’s possible given that most of the relevant words are the same in both languages, but somehow, you people manage. If you can get through the Amidah three times a day - dosim, I’m looking at you - you can handle ordering a sandwich in the language of your people.

There. I said it. And I feel a lot better now.

I was browsing through the sites that link to Jewlicious today, and I stumbled upon a most curious post on Israpundit. Now, I was fuzzily aware that Israpundit was one of those right-wing, chest-thumpingly pro-Israel sites written by Jews who, of course, don’t live in Israel and seem to spend most of their time eagerly humping the legs of their Evangelical masters - but I never really paid any attention, mostly because the only thing worse than simpering, bleeding-heart leftist Jews are impotent, bloodlust-filled rightist Jews. But this post wasn’t content with the normal right-wing verbal masturbation - this is full-on right-wing verbal whips ‘n’ chains leather crazy sex.

Onto the post itself, in all of its twirly-eyed, theremin-music glory:

Can a good Muslin become a good American or Canadian?

I received this email:

I sent that question to a friend who worked in Saudi Arabia for 20 years. The following is his reply:

Theologically - no. Because his allegiance is to Allah, the moon god of Arabia.

Religiously - no. Because no other religion is accepted by his Allah except Islam (Quran, 2:256).

Scripturally - no. Because his allegiance is to the five pillars of Islam and the Quran (Koran).

Geographically - no. Because his allegiance is to Mecca, to which he turns in prayer five times a day.

Socially - no. Because his allegiance to Islam forbids him to make friends with Christians or Jews.

Politically - no. Because he must submit to the mullah (spiritual leaders), who teach annihilation of Israel and Destruction of America, the great Satan.

Domestically - no. Because he is instructed to marry four women and beat and scourge his wife when she disobeys him (Quran 4:34).

Intellectually - no. Because he cannot accept the American Constitution since it is based on Biblical principles and he believes the Bible to be corrupt.

Philosophically - no. Because Islam, Muhammad, and the Quran do not allow freedom of religion and __expression. Democracy and Islam cannot co-exist.Every Muslim government is either dictatorial or autocratic.

Spiritually - no. Because when we declare “one nation under God,” the Christian’s God is loving and kind, while Allah is NEVER referred to as heavenly father, nor is he ever called love in The Quran’s 99 excellent names.

Therefore after much study and deliberation….perhaps we should be very suspicious of ALL MUSLIMS in this country. They obviously cannot be both “good” Muslims and good Americans or Canadians.

Oh God, oh God, oh God, it’s so stupid my nose is bleeding!

Let’s play my new favorite game, Substitution, again!

Can a good Jew become a good German?

I sent that question to a friend who worked in Poland for 20 years. The following is his reply:

Theologically - no. Because his allegiance is to Yahweh, the desert god of Palestine.

Religiously - no. Because no other religion is accepted by his God (Exodus 20:2).

Scripturally - no. Because his allegiance is to the five books of Moses and the Talmud.

Geographically - no. Because his allegiance is to Jerusalem, to which he turns in prayer three times a day.

Socially - no. Because his allegiance to Judaism forbids him to make friends with Christians.

Politically - no. Because he must submit to the rabbis, who teach annihilation of the pagan nations and the eventual servitude of non-Jews to Jews in the Messianic Era.

Domestically - no. Because he is instructed to cut off his wife’s hand for slights as minor as breaking up a fight between her husband and another man by grabbing the man’s genitals (Deuteronomy 25:11).

Intellectually - no. Because he cannot accept German Law since it is based on Biblical principles and he believes the half of the Bible to be corrupt.

Philosophically - no. Because Judaism, Moses, and the Talmud do not allow freedom of religion and expression. Democracy and Judaism cannot co-exist. Every Jewish government has been either dictatorial or autocratic.

Spiritually - no. Because when we declare “one nation under God,” the Christian’s God is loving and kind, whereas the Jews’ God is the vengeful God of the Old Testament.

Therefore after much study and deliberation….perhaps we should be very suspicious of ALL JEWS in this country. They obviously cannot be both “good” Jews and good Germans.

Watch out, motherfuckers! That slope’s slippe–too late.

I mean, really, I hate to get all Godwin’s Law on you here, but we’ve heard this rhetoric before…somewhere…my knowledge of history is admittedly incomplete, but I seem to recall it ended somewhat badly.

Oh, but there’s more! I also discovered, in the midst of my Jewlicious link browsing, this asshole. You see, he’s decided to compile a list of his first actions upon being elected as Prime Minister of Israel (it’s fun to pretend!). Among his revolutionary ideas:

4. Arab Israelis and Palestinians would be allowed to continue participating in Israeli elections. However, since their numbers are on the rise while the Jewish population of Israel is receding, Palestinians would be given the equalent of “half a vote” in all elections, whether primaries of general elections for the Knesset.

I, for one, completely agree. The Negro has not been gifted by the good Lord with the same native faculties as the white man, and it is the Christian’s burden to civilize him and wean him away from his jungle habits and to show him the light of democracy, and even to let him participate to the fullest extent of his potential, which is of course 3/5 that of the white man’s. Also, a woman’s right to vote is redundant, because they only double the vote of their husband, and they could be spending that time struggling to wrap their feeble minds around the issues of the day making kugel.

I have my own promise. If this guy gets elected Prime Minister, I’m going to commit hara-kiri. On his doorstep. While he’s away, so I’ll have started to turn a little by the time he gets back. There’s nothing that can’t be made better by spite.

Okay, but for once, in all seriousness: the fact that even a few people on the right have come to deem this manner of rhetoric acceptable to freely discuss in public, instead of hiding it deep in their black little hearts in hopes nobody commits them, is a little alarming. Perhaps instead of building yet another flagellating Holocaust memorial in a city that doesn’t even have Jews (coming soon: Ulaan Bataar’s Holocaust Memorial Center!), we should honor the memory of those who perished by guarding ourselves from the kind of rhetoric that led to their deaths in the first place.

Or we could just do the hara-kiri thing. I mean, if you’re cool with it.

JERUSALEM (AP) — Meeting on the grounds of the Ophel, former site of the Jebusite city of Jerusalem, the Israeli Knesset voted unanimously Saturday to express “profound regret” for the Israelite people’s invasion and occupation of the land of Canaan and the expulsion and forcible conversion of many of its non-Israelite inhabitants.

Sponsors of the resolution say they know of no other country that has apologized for distant historical events, although Mongolian lawmakers are considering such a measure. The resolution does not carry the weight of law but sends an important symbolic message, supporters said.

“This session will be remembered for a lot of things, but 20 years hence I suspect one of those things will be the fact that we came together and passed this resolution. I only wish we could have succeeded in bringing a representative of the Canaanite people to the ceremony, but we failed to find a suitable candidate - or any candidate, for that matter,” said Uri Avneri, a politician and founder of the Gush Shalom movement who sponsored the resolution.

The measure also expressed regret for “the exploitation of Moabites.”

The resolution was introduced as Israel begins its celebration of the 3000th anniversary of the occupation of Jerusalem, where the first Israelites arrived in at the head of warrior-king David’s armies around the year 1000 BCE. Jerusalem, home to a popular assortment of sites of religious significance to the Israelite faith, later became a focal point for offshoot religions Christianity and Islam.

Oh, put down that Google News, I made it up. Well, sort of. I actually derived it from this - the Virginia General Assembly just voted to pass a resolution apologizing for slavery, thereby freeing America’s white citizens from their overpowering urge to clasp their black friends’ shoulders and wail “I’m sooorrryyyyyy!” God, I love it when the political system works for the people.

But seriously, although I appreciate an empty symbolic gesture as much as the next guy, slavery kind of…ended…something like…oh, 142 years ago, give or take? The best way to say “sorry” would probably have been to give ol’ Prissy a spot of monetary compensation, or at least 40 acres and a mule, back in 1865 - but I’m sure she’ll rest easy knowing that her great-great-great grandchildren have been officially apologized to for her suffering by the august State of Virginia.

Now, one might say that the American black community is suffering from the effects of slavery to this very day. I’ll buy that - I might roll my eyes ever so slightly, but I’ll buy it. Normally I’d suggest that the best way for American whites to assuage their apparently lingering guilt would be to stop moving out of their neighborhoods the minute somebody who owns the soundtrack to Superfly moves in, or maybe cutting a check for the UNCF, or at least gathering the children for a didactic family viewing of Ali, but fortunately for crackers none of that is necessary anymore. Virginia apologized - your responsibility is over, white America! Put your precious offspring in a private school where skin colors don’t get more threatening than yellow, spend the ticket price for the next Spike Lee joint on weed instead, throw out those Talib Kweli CDs you bought for indie cred and replace them with your Starland Vocal Band collection, let those inner cities decay, decay, decay - whatever you want, proud sons of Europe! Free at last, free at last, thank God Almighty, free at last!

It’s an inspiration to me that all it takes to solve - or at least sweep aside - long-seated racial issues is a ridiculous apology so overdue it no longer needed to be made.

But where do we, the Jews, fit in? I’ll leave it to that clarion voice of mainstream, centrist American Jewish thought, JVoices, who will be debuting a post crowing how this shining triumph for American blacks is a victory as well for American blacks’ BFFs, i.e. the Jews, probably within the next five minutes. As we all know, since the vast majority of American Jews’ ancestors began to arrive 20 years after the end of slavery in the country, the American Jewish community must shoulder the heavy burden of its complicity in the plight of the American black community. And anything that will help to make that burden lighter is welcome.

I recently spent a day in Modi’in (It’s the City of the Future!), ostensibly to help Harry and Ziva with a few things around the house, but really so I could get acquainted with the new star of The View from Household: Tzofia! Also, sleep in a real bed in a room with trisim, chill with the dogs, watch TV, and eat of Harry and Ziva’s delicious foodstuffs. I really like my Modi’in time. The fact that I got the best night’s sleep I’ve had in months in a house with an infant should indicate how truly miserable living in Machaneh Yehuda is.

But I digress! It’s all about Tzofia - you can read her feelings on my visit on Jewlicious, where she telepathically blogs a la Hana Gitelman. And here you can enjoy a picture of me captured in a rare approximation of a smile with one seriously conked-out baby.

Tzofia is so rock and roll that her birth weight wasn’t in ounces, it was in decibels. Tzofia goes to 11!

And just to show how much luv I get at Harry’s, here’s me and the incomparable Noonie, my favorite dog in the entire Middle East, who’s always thrilled to see me because it means hours of tummy-rubbing.

Nothin’ like Modi’in time.

And now, your random musical selection of the day…

Truth Fact & Correct - Babylon Deh Pon Fire

Because I have nothing in particular to write about at the moment, I figured I’d fill up space with some “artistic” odds and ends. Whee!

1) I identify with those prehistoric humans who, between all the hunting and gathering and carefully considering how to carve their stone tools so that future anthropologists could neatly categorize their level of mental/societal development, found time to draw on cave walls - because I have the exact same impulse. I enjoy few things more than drawing on walls, but this is unfortunately a predilection not often appreciated in wider society, especially if you’re renting. I was able to do it in college, where the shiny tile walls of the dorm made a great canvas for whiteboard markers (I filled up two large stretches of hallway wall), but since then, I’ve had to keep myself in check. Until I bought my very, very vintage Israeli refrigerator, that is.

Nothing says “I store and refrigerate food items” better than a life-size reproduction of Rhygin from The Harder They Come! Also, having armed men on your fridge deters food moochers, an idea very similar to a mouthful of teeth painted on a Spitfire.

2) Hey Chris, remember that vacation we took to Haiti? Those cruise ship viruses are nastier than the media would have you believe…

3) And finally, as a little teaser, one complete, pre-dialogue-addition panel from the oft-delayed Tales from the Eucharist: The Manischewitz Wager Part 2, to be released next week!

Aren’t you just wild with anticipation now?

And as an added bonus, a sample of what I’m listening to lately: Seu Jorge.

Seu Jorge - Tive Razão

And now, I’m going to bed.

Preface: I like New Zealand and its people a lot.

However.

The clothing choices here baffle me. I’m not really a fashion plate or clothes horse - partly because clothes never fit me well, and partly because I don’t care. For example, I have four brown striped polo shirts, and I brought three of them with me to New Zealand. See? Reliable, presentable garb. A Calvinist would be proud. But, unlike many New Zealanders, I would never wear:

- a mullet. Now, I know I mentioned mullets before, but I don’t think I was clear. There’s the standard mullet here, but there’s also a New Wave “Fashion” mullet. The long part is only a fringe of hairs in the back, of irregular length, and the short part is erratically spike like a drunken cockatiel. The effect when paired with a public school uniform is unsettling.

- slacks, dress shoes, and fishnets. Did this woman think that an ankle with webbing would entice?

- very, very short shorts. On men. I don’t ever like to see knees, but in New Zealand I’m constantly bombarded with flashes of mighty thighs.

- very, very tight pants. On men. So tight that I don’t think they can look in their pockets for change without a distinct thrill. These uber-tight pants bunch at the knee, which looks uncomfortable, and makes me worry about their fertility.

- black socks with sandals. Why does this look always make me think of Germans?

As you may have gathered, I have… dabbled, shall we say, in drugs. My experience is not deep, but it is fairly broad. Some were fun, some were alarming, and one caused me to produce deeply, deeply unsettling amounts of phlegm. And although I may have rubbed my own torso until I had ten tiny blisters on the ends of my fingers, confronted a knothole, and drawn a detailed family tree of the Tudors, I have generally been disappointed - people stab hookers for this?

Except for one.

Honestly, why do people do other drugs when they can just drink? A drunk person is way, way less likely to wander off topic during sex; alcohol can taste good; alcohol need not be injected, sucked out of a balloon, or snorted into a sinus; it is relatively inexpensive; it is legal in civilized countries; and it is accessible. You don’t have to “know a guy” - honestly, the best argument for me against smoking pot is that it’s usually sold either by hippies or guys who say “snoochie-boochies.” The liquor store clerk will not use cute slang - gin is never dank or skunky, and no matter how often it is consumed is never referred to as chronic - and if the liquor store clerk asks to consume some of your new purchase, as pot dealers often do, you can cut him, cut him real pretty.

Anyway, when I was in Israel, The Jew and I had a couple of moderately entertaining liquor-buying experiences. While hunting for budget intoxicants, we found something called “Nikita” vodka. The (plastic) bottle featured a woman with a no-longer-fashionable haircut and ample cleavage holding a pistol. The Jew took it to the counter to pay, and had a long conversation with the guy in Hebrew, which to me of course sounded like “khamalakharat khalurumulut where kharukhamet I want khetrekhet abomination.” The Jew went back to the shelf, got some other kind of paint stripper vodka, paid, and we left.

“What was that?”

“Oh, he wouldn’t sell us the other vodka. He says it’s basically inorganic and more or less poisonous, and he feels guilty about letting people drink it.”

Then, there was the Israeli tequila - “Amigo!” It’s made in Haifa, and apparently has a rival tequila, “Taco Taco.” There’s not much to say about it except the inherently funny phrase “Israeli tequila.” It tasted like a SweeTart dissolved in nail polish remover.

But remember, kids. Drinking will never solve any of your problems.

(But it will make them seem irrelevant for a while.)

Is there anything more depressing than looking for a job?

Yes, a lot of things, including the idea of a Balestinian state, the idea that a puppy might ever have been sad, and James Blunt’s success. But job-hunting still sucks. I made a CV (because they’re not resumes anymore, they’re curricula vitae, ooh-la-fucking-la) and it’s just unspeakably grim. I am qualified to do the following:

Sit in an office

Stand on a shop floor

Talk about Tudor England.

And if you can imagine it, not a lot of people need someone to staff their office “What Would Bloody Mary Do?” hotline. I didn’t apply for a dishwashing job because the sign said that “heaps” of experience were required.

Why is this so depressing? Why am I seriously about to apply at the erotic goods shop, because odds are they need someone to mop the booths?

Why has the astoundingly uninteresting life and death of Anna Nicole Smith been the fucking top story on CNN for days? Really, I thought America had moved past its “buxom blonde dead in mysterious circumstances” headline obsession ’round about, oh, World War fucking II. What’s the headline going to be tomorrow? “Made Moll Takes a Powder in the Great Gin Mill in the Sky - Was it the Shine or the Hop?” “Pro Skirt’s Patsy Behind the 8-Ball in Court - Will He Get a Leaf of Her Lettuce?” Are we going to start having to end our sentences in “see”? Will our streets ever be safe from Capone and his trouble boys? SHOULD I BREAK OUT MY FUCKING SUSPENDERS?

Excuse me, I need to go drown a pint of giggle juice and maybe have a little tea.

Some of you may remember my fortuitous invention of a thrilling new mixed drink, the Ashkenazi. I remember it like it was last week, and every day since then.

Anyway, tireless dynamo of creative energy that I am, especially when it comes to getting screwed up, I’ve created a sister drink to the Ashkenazi, a combination of flavors and liquors so incredibly girly and delicious it makes your disappearing chest hair sing Cyndi Lauper tunes.

Beloved readers, I introduce to you: the Sephardi.

Here’s how it works:

Fill glass with ice
Float:
1 part chocolate liqueur
1 part vodka
1 part coffee liqueur
2 - 3 parts vanilla Al ha-Boker milk (regular milk will probably do in a pinch)

Pour carefully to get that layered effect going, because not only does it have to be girly, it has to be pretty. Then stir it up a little and drink it.

The Sephardi! Because as we all know, all a Sephardi is is an Ashkenazi with a little chocolate mixed in.

Also, drink carefully, because while there may not appear to be a lot of booze in there, just one will get you quite well-toasted. Mmmm…you’re welcome.

The vagaries of my employment forced me today to spend a couple hours watching videos posted on YouTube by alumni of Birthright Israel (or, ahem, “Taglit-birthright israel,” because if you don’t suspend your understanding of written English syntax and make like e e cummingstein when you refer to his blessed program Michael Steinhardt will punish you by gyrating against your young body like Lynn Schusterman at a Mega-Event). Don’t ask me why.

I was already unhappy with this diversion, because I was listening to Gilberto Gil and Jorge Ben’s Gil e Jorge, which is a fantastic album, and it kept getting interrupted by the soundtracks the children had chosen to immortalize their precious tAgLiT-bIrThRiGhT iSrAeL memories - usually U2, or techno, or some similar ostentatious Jewish pride music.

Gilberto Gil & Jorge Ben - Taj Mahal

But, as always, the worst was yet to come. You see, in its admittedly admirable quest to introduce every Jew to their heritage, 7@91337-81r7hr19h7 1sr@31 inevitably winds up scraping the vomit-soaked bottom of the Unaffiliated American Jew barrel. Sometimes these unfortunate souls can surprise you by being valuable contributors to the trip, but the general experience is more like so: acting on hardwired instinct, they seek out others like them (usually beginning in the airport), and by the time the group arrives in Israel, their cellular structures have broken down and they have fused together, forming a collective organism composed mostly of khaki and reeking of Calvin Klein Obsession, which oozes towards the back of the bus and spends most of the trip yelling “WHOOOOOOO!” until somebody placates it with grain alcohol. And sometimes, it even makes videos.

Almost every back of the bus on almost every trip is the same. I was thankfully spared an invasion of these types on the trip I led last summer, but then again, some of the girls on the trip, the future mothers of the next generation of the Children of Israel, put up a sign in front of the last few rows of the bus reading “Reserved - Rosa Parks Club 466.” I vaguely considered carefully explaining to them that not only was this offensive in roughly six different ways, but also that Rosa Parks’ entire significance stemmed from her decision to sit in the front of the bus - but then I realized that there were better uses of the rapidly-passing seconds of my life, such as crying and cutting myself.

But I digress. I’ve watched a dozen videos of Birthright idiocy on Youtube (the car-wreck effect and all). I’ve been on a taglit-BIRTHRIGHT ISRAEL trip. I’ve staffed a תגלית-זכות מלידה ישראל trip. And I have to know: where do these identical borderline-mentally-handicapped, alcoholic, chubby, hirsute and most of all deafening Jewish frat rats come from?

So I did a little research. I discovered, unsurprisingly, that the source of this blight is the same that has caused so much other suffering for the peoples of Israel and America: Al-Qaeda.

This innocuous-looking Jersey City warehouse holds a dark secret, an integral cog in radical Islam’s plan to bring the Western World and specifically the Jews to their knees. Long tables are lined with thousands of petri dishes, all containing the cloned genetic material of an AEPi brother kidnapped by radical elements during a trip to Israel in 1997. Seizing upon the new technology of cloning and genetic engineering, Al-Qaeda’s scientists used their captive frat boy’s DNA to create a veritable army of genetically-identical, Dave-Matthews-and-college-football-lovin’ Jewish frat boys, artificially aged in tanks and continuously released upon the American Jewish population, whereupon they follow their programmed instincts and travel on Birthright in order to inflict boundless torment and misery on the hated population of the Jewish State. Through a combination of sheer force of “WHOOOOO!” and the steady genetic weakening of the non-cloned Jewish population (the clones’ second-biggest instinct after pursuing their alcoholic fuel is mating), Al-Qaeda hopes Israel will crumble, allowing a massive popular Arab surge to finally sweep the remnants of the Jews into the sea.

Don’t let them. Neuter a frat clone today. Save Birthright. In doing so, you will have saved the Jewish People.

Noted Spearhead of the Golden Horde and Butcher of Samarkand Mobius presented to me a welcome offering of music today, including a great many albums I’ve been meaning to get my hands on for months, even years (until today, I did not own the first Wu-Tang album - can you believe that shit?). Among them was a particularly tasty morsel - Sinéad O’Connor’s latest album.

No, seriously.

I can’t say I’ve ever been a big fan of Her Controversialness (although she does look cute in oversized combat boots), and I refuse to accept the commonly-held belief that her version and video of Prince’s “Nothing Compares 2 U” is definitive (probably because crying women make me uncomfortable) - but it seems she recently gave up on that whole “Mother Bernadette Mary” thing and travelled to Jamaica, whereupon she apparently terrified the normally breathtakingly misogynistic Rastas into submission long enough to convert to Rastafari. And then what did she do?

She recorded an album of note-perfect covers of classic roots reggae songs, with the inimitable Sly and Robbie holding down the riddim. And it’s really fucking good.

Admittedly, compiling a Burning Spear-heavy list of Babylon-burning reggae anthems and playing them faithfully makes it difficult to screw up. But really, the Irish lilt over deep roots works surprisingly well. Check it out:

Marcus Garvey (Burning Spear)

Door Peep (Burning Spear)

Y Mas Gan (The Abyssinians)

I also found this kind of cute story…it’s Burning Spear himself and Sinéad interviewing each other about music, Rastafari, Jamaican history, Irish history, religion and fish.

I predict Sinéad has a few more years of Rasta in her. After that, I reckon she’ll fall in line with current market trends and become Jewish. I mean, she named her latest spawn “Yeshua,” which is already an ominous sign.

In Auckland, I kept seeing all these places that had signs for “Chinese massage” in front of them. Usually, the signs pointed to dingy, sharply angled, garishly painted stairs. Now, in almost every country in the world, that’s code for “within, an Asian woman with a terrible past can be purchased or rented for a small coin to perform unspeakable sex acts.”

But prostitution is legal in New Zealand.

So are these just actual, if ominous, massage places?